The Fairy-Land of Science eBook

HOW TO ENTER IT; HOW TO USE IT; AND HOW TO ENJOY IT

I have promised to introduce you today to the
fairy-land of science — a somewhat bold promise,
seeing that most of you probably look upon science
as a bundle of dry facts, while fairy-land is all
that is beautiful, and full of poetry and imagination.
But I thoroughly believe myself, and hope to prove
to you, that science is full of beautiful pictures,
of real poetry, and of wonder-working fairies; and
what is more, I promise you they shall be true fairies,
whom you will love just as much when you are old and
greyheaded as when you are young; for you will be
able to call them up wherever you wander by land or
by sea, through meadow or through wood, through water
or through air; and though they themselves will always
remain invisible, yet you will see their wonderful
poet at work everywhere around you.

Let us first see for a moment what kind of tales science
has to tell, and how far they are equal to the old
fairy tales we all know so well. Who does not
remember the tale of the “Sleeping Beauty in
the Wood,” and how under the spell of the angry
fairy the maiden pricked herself with the spindle
and slept a hundred years? How the horses in
the stall, the dogs in the court-yard, the doves on
the roof, the cook who was boxing the scullery boy’s
ears in the kitchen, and the king and queen with all
their courtiers in the hall remained spell-bound,
while a thick hedge grew up all round the castle and
all within was still as death. But when the hundred
years had passed the valiant prince came, the thorny
hedge opened before him bearing beautiful flowers;
and he, entering the castle, reached the room where
the princess lay, and with one sweet kiss raised her
and all around her to life again.

Can science bring any tale to match this?

Tell me, is there anything in this world more busy
and active than water, as it rushes along in the swift
brook, or dashes over the stones, or spouts up in
the fountain, or trickles down from the roof, or shakes
itself into ripples on the surface of the pond as
the wind blows over it? But have you never seen
this water spell-bound and motionless? Look
out of the window some cold frosty morning in winter,
at the little brook which yesterday was flowing gently
past the house, and see how still it lies, with the
stones over which it was dashing now held tightly
in its icy grasp. Notice the wind-ripples on
the pond; they have become fixed and motionless.
Look up at the roof of the house. There, instead
of living doves merely charmed to sleep, we have running
water caught in the very act of falling and turned
into transparent icicles, decorating the eaves with
a beautiful crystal fringe. On every tree and
bush you will catch the water-drops napping, in the
form of tiny crystals; while the fountain looks like
a tree of glass with long down-hanging pointed leaves.
Even the damp of your own breath lies rigid and still
on the window-pane frozen into delicate patterns like
fern-leaves of ice.